


A Strange Emotion

by Morningstarofnight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angels, Demons, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fallen Angels, Murder Mystery, Slow Build, Slow Romance, shameless OC/canon shipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2015-06-04
Packaged: 2018-03-01 06:52:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2763758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morningstarofnight/pseuds/Morningstarofnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As Hermione returns to her former school of Hogwarts during the summer on business for her department at the Ministry, her path crosses that of a stranger who claims to believe in angels and demons. When an unusual set of murders throws the local wildlife into a panic, the man offers his help. Suspicious of what his true purpose is in the area, Hermione nevertheless agrees to work with him. To his surprise, the stranger faces an emotion he thought was lost to him, although the need to protect a dark secret just might get in the way of those feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. As All Stories Begin

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t even ask where this idea began. It was a long time in formation. My brain just loves to stick my original characters into the Harry Potter world and have them run around wildly. By the time the characterization of my OC finished developing, it was too late to stop the ship from leaving port. So anyway, here’s this thing. Hope you enjoy it, I suppose.  
> Somewhat veering off the canon track for the whole “19 years later” epilogue; while Harry and Ginny are indeed married, Ron and Hermione are not, and no this will not become part of a love triangle. Just wanted to clear that up. I would have brought back Lupin, Tonks, and Snape as well but that isn’t going to happen.
> 
> Takes place post-series, but while Hermione is working for the Dept. for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.
> 
> [Removed classification as Paradise Lost crossover, because it's really not.]

This one began with thunder and a stranger. Rain poured down onto the cobbled road, swirling in eddies on the corners before taking off in a stream down the slightest incline. A sudden break in the shop-lined street caught the water by surprise. Uncertainly, the runoff ran along the edge of the crooked stairs, sending droplets cascading over the edge, before it was finally pushed over the side and gravity lured it to the bottom, into the dank alleyway where the population snuck by with hoods and scowls.

More rainwater was pooling at the feet of a tall man leaning against the wall of a pub. Inside, dim lighting guarded low conversations and laughter. The bartender had been watching the man outside the window for some time now. He seemed content to just stand there and wait out the downpour, wrapped in a long black cloak and hood.

“Sir?” Finally, curiosity got the best of him and he wandered over to the door, edging it open just enough to seem slightly welcoming. “You want to come inside? We’ve got firewhiskey. Tad stronger than most places, but…er…sir?”

The reason for his faltering sentence was clear: the stranger was gone.

For the rest of the night, the bartender would be bothered by the encounter. He didn’t have a problem with Disapparating. A lot of people who walked into The White Wyvern would be on their way to the door, and halfway there decide that was too slow a route. Disapparition was normal. Sure, it was rude in the middle of a conversation, but it made the little friendly _pop_ noise as a warning.

What bothered him was that the stranger hadn’t Disapparated. The man just wasn’t there when the bartender blinked, as if the shadows and the rain had stolen him away.

 

* * *

 

This one began with a stranger in a village. It was quiet, thoughtful beside the presence of the old castle down the road. Rain had passed through here, too. Puddles softened the hard edge of the roads and the air was filled with the sweet smell of dampened nature. The man had arrived the night before, just in time for the local shower. This time, he had elected to sit in the brighter, more cheerful inn, The Three Broomsticks. Villagers kept up a steady stream of business, sitting at the bar and discussing the weather. Listening to the chatter did little to engage the stranger’s mind, but it was sometimes a nice reprieve to hear the odd monotony of a human life.

“I’m telling you, Rosmerta, a swan or summat got caught up in the storm; see, look at this…” The man speaking produced a bedraggled and dirty feather from his pocket, dropping it triumphantly on the bar.

The barman looked over the innkeeper’s shoulder with a scoff. “Looks more like you plucked it off a fat pigeon t’me.”

“Hush,” Madame Rosmerta told him, before directing her attention back to the feather. “Not sure what you’re trying to prove there. I’ve seen swans around here before, up at the lake.”

The stranger watched the proceedings with some degree of amusement, as the morning turned the discussion into a mock argument, with the feather’s defender pulling obscure magical theory out of nowhere in an attempt to convince the woman of the magical properties of swan feathers. Failing that, he desperately started in on a campaign where “okay, maybe I was wrong, surely it’s gotta be a hippogriff down feather, at least” turned into an enumeration of every single winged magical creature he could think of.

“At that rate, I’m surprised you haven’t considered angels,” the stranger called over. The intrusion into their conversation caught the attention of both Madame Rosmerta and the other man.

Though his hood was down and an angular, thin face shown to the world, the two still felt a measure of uncertainty. The feeling soon passed, squashed by the inevitable human delight at ganging up on another person who proposed an idea they both found ridiculous. “Don’t tell me yer a religious wizard, now,” the man said sternly, shaking the soggy feather in the stranger’s direction. “I don’t have anything against the church in this town, just think it’s a little odd, is all. Hanging everything on faith and all.”

“Oh, I don’t have any faith, exactly,” the stranger said, standing and nodding to the innkeeper, “just thought I’d throw the idea out there.” With that, he left the room, heading out into the dripping scene the rain had created.

The barman scoffed again. “Angels, huh?”

 

* * *

 

This one began with a meeting.

“You know, people still think that place is haunted, but I haven’t heard of anything happening there in years.” The voice sounded almost sad.

The stranger turned to look at the woman who had come to stand next to him and lean on the fence, looking up at the rickety old house. He was startled, but perfectly trained in not letting that emotion reveal itself on his face. “What?”

Shaking her head, the woman dropped the subject and met his eyes. “Hermione Granger.” She offered her hand.

The stranger hesitated, gloved hand curling defensively, eyeing the limb being shoved at him. Too late, he decided to shake the hand, but the woman had already dropped it, disappointment clouding her eyes for a second.

He sighed. “My name’s Lukas Morrow.” Instead of trying to salvage the failed handshake, the man simply inclined his head in Hermione’s direction. She looked back at him, taking in his miserable, rain-drenched appearance. Unkempt bangs of blond hair had at some point been plastered to the side of his face, but were now dried sufficiently to stick out in wavy clumps. The rest of his hair was tied back in a ponytail in a similar state of disarray. A long scar ran straight down over his left eye, prominent enough to make it obvious that the man would have had to get his eye magically healed.

Over all, he was nearly a foot taller than Hermione, and although he physically appeared lean, the stranger’s stance reflected what she had come to understand as one meant for fighting, whether through magical or other means. “Do you have business in Hogsmeade as well?” she asked.

“Not really.”

“Ah.” Hermione turned halfway, looking back towards the main part of the village. “I’m here on Ministry business. Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I—excuse me, is there something funny about that?” A small smirk had crept onto Lukas’ face, and Hermione returned it by shifting to a colder tone.

“No, Miss Hermione.” The answer was polite enough, if strangely formal coming from the youthful face that couldn’t be much older than hers. “Just that there’s a man over in The Three Broomsticks who was spouting endlessly about magical birds of one sort or another. He had a feather,” Lukas added.

Hermione allowed a small smile at that. “Of course. Mr. Morrow, I will be staying up at Hogwarts if you have any need to contact a Ministry worker of my department. Good day,” she finished, and moved on, back towards the busier street where the villagers headed about their own work.

Lukas stayed for a few moments, looking up at the old house, before heading off in search of a room to live in.


	2. This One Began With Death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, this second chapter turned out longer than I thought it was going to be. Actual plot is now under way!

There was something strange about a school during the summer. It was still early after the students had left, so the headmistress and most of the teachers were in the building, organizing notes for the next year or tidying up their classrooms. Empty classrooms. As Hermione walked in to the castle on her way to the staff chambers, she had that sense of being watched which comes from the knowledge that there are other people in the building, hidden from view. The atmosphere in Hogwarts lacked something—the rustling and murmur of students down a corridor, or distant laughter echoing from somewhere on the staircases.

“Ms. Granger!” The greeting broke the hushed silence reigning over the school, and Hermione turned to see an almost ageless, familiar face coming to greet her.

“Hello, Professor McGonagall,” Hermione said.

“I thought you might be arriving soon. I’ve just finished making sure one of the extra rooms was ready for you,” the headmistress said with a firm nod.

“Thank you.” Hermione shifted the purse on her shoulder. Ever since those days of hiding and running before the Battle of Hogwarts, she’d gotten in the habit of charming her bag to hold a large amount of items. It was more convenient, especially when she had to travel like this. Now, though, it seemed heavy, and she just wanted to put it down somewhere and rest. “I think I’ll go settle in now. It’s been a long day.”

The staff’s chambers were spread out in an array of individual rooms, opening onto a commons area with soft chairs and a large, warm fireplace lending its skill against the damp chill of the air outside. In the corner, a small kitchen stocked with enchanted Muggle appliances looked out of place amidst the stone walls.

Hermione let herself in to the room Professor McGonagall showed her. She smiled at the sight of the four-poster bed, feeling almost like a student again. The smaller, personal fireplace and desk against one wall, though—that was new, and as Hermione went about unpacking a bit for her work, she found a small piece of excitement about being back in the castle. Like a queen, she felt perfectly at ease in the giant building. Hermione sank onto the bed, into a deep sleep despite the early hour.

And like a queen, when she awoke the news of a terrible event in her kingdom was reported to her first.

 

* * *

 

“Er. Ms. Granger?” A man’s voice was at the door, nervous and unsteady. There was a rapid succession of knocks, like the thumping of a mouse’s heartbeat. “Ms. Granger. Please, there’s something. Er.”

A quick dressing later, Hermione opened the door to find one of her colleagues in the Department waiting outside. He was a scrawny man, the much-more-comfortable-with-a-desk-job kind, and his small hat was clenched tightly in his fists. When he saw Hermione, an anxiety-ridden sigh escaped his lungs. “Granger. Ms. Granger.”

“I know my last name, Dorian. What’s wrong? Have the centaurs called off the meeting?”

Dorian shuddered. “No. I’ve already sent a message to them, we’re rescheduling. I don’t know when.”

“What? But we’ve been working on this for months!” Hermione grabbed her purse from behind the door, stepping out into the hall with a fierceness that made the man jump back several paces.

“Something happened,” Dorian repeated.

 

* * *

 

Morbid curiosity was usually the norm at a crime scene, but the few villagers that had gathered stared wordlessly at the ground rather than gawked. Hermione and Dorian had no trouble reaching the area set apart by some more Ministry officials. Badges from Magical Law Enforcement were everywhere, of course, but a few of the more somber, skulking ones on the fringes of the group had to be from Mysteries.

“Why on earth are they here?” Hermione whispered to her friend. Dorian didn’t respond, merely pointed at the body that was the source of the commotion.

What was left of it, at any rate.

“Oh.”

Carefully, Hermione bent down to take a closer look. “It’s not the Slasher Curse,” someone said. Hermione distantly remembered that was the name they gave _Sectumsempra_ after...everything. “We’re fairly certain those are claw marks.”

She raised her eyes from the body and its distorted features to find another woman, a Magical Law Enforcement badge pinned to her jacket, also observing the destruction. Her red hair was unkempt, reflecting the stress on her round face. Neither of them spoke for a minute, but in the small crowd of villagers behind them, Hermione could hear Madame Rosmerta suddenly burst into tears.

“H-He was just there this m-morning. J-just his usual banter, raving on about some st-stupid magical swan feather!”

Hermione turned back to the woman after a quick glance over her shoulder. “He was killed in broad daylight? Just now?”

The redhead nodded. “Ms. Rosmerta said that he walked out the door a few hours ago, and then the screaming started. It…looks like something dragged him into the alley, then tossed him back out here.”

“ _And_ ,” Dorian emphasized, leaning over, “apparently Hogwarts’ hippogriff and thestral herds have been acting weird. They’re tied up, thankfully, otherwise I think they would have flown away. My messenger to the centaurs ran by their enclosures on his way back and saw.”

That unsettled Hermione almost as much as the mangled corpse in front of her. What exactly could scare a thestral that much? They were mostly calm. Creepy, but calm.

Shaking her head, Hermione stood up and just looked at the poor man. Practically every inch of his skin was shredded in bloody ribbons of flesh and fabric from his clothing. Long, jagged slashes had dug deeply into his chest, cracking straight through bones and thick muscle. His face had been completely untouched, allowing the stiff set of death to preserve the terror etched onto it.

Abruptly, Hermione whirled around, letting out a shaky breath. The numbness had worn off, realization of what was lying on the ground finally sinking in.

“Ms. Granger?” the Magical Law Enforcement woman said. “I know you just arrived this morning, and certainly weren’t expecting the afternoon to turn out like this, but I need to know if you saw anything suspicious earlier. Any strangers passing through?”

She didn’t move from her spot, not looking the other woman in the eyes. Not wanting to find her eyes drawn back downwards. “You think a human did that?”

“Not…exactly, no. But if you’ll look at this…” A different voice this time. One of the Department of Mysteries people had approached the three of them, an older man with thinning black hair and a queasy expression. With a sigh, Hermione faced the body again, suppressing the twist in her stomach. Bending down, the Mysteries official reached out a glove to gently expose the dead man’s neck. Among yet more slashes, there was a familiar mark: a small bite wound, precisely over the jugular, two semi-circles of teeth. A human-shaped mouth.

“Not a vampire,” the man said in a sad tone. “From what we can tell of the marks, all of the beast’s teeth were sharp, not just the enlarged fangs. And vampires wouldn’t do the rest of this.”

“No they would not,” Hermione agreed. Suddenly, a thought grabbed her mind, and she pointed at the redheaded woman. “You asked if I saw any strangers this morning? I did. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”

She marched over to the group of villagers, where Madame Rosmerta was still crying into her bartender’s shoulder. He had an arm held awkwardly around her, not sure what to do with the normally strong and straightforward innkeeper.

“Madame Rosmerta,” Hermione began gently, catching her attention. “Sorry to trouble you, but did a man come by your inn this morning, perhaps to rent a room? Tall, blond haired?”

The innkeeper brightened considerably. “Oh, him? He was in there while Charles and I were…were talking. Went out for a bit, but came back in a little while later. Said he wanted a room, was planning on staying for a little while. You—you don’t need to worry about him,” she hastily added, tears sparking into her eyes again. “He was in The Three Broomsticks when Charles left, he hasn’t gone back outside yet.”

“That’s fine,” Hermione said. “If I could have his room number, I’d still like to let him know what’s going on and talk to him some more.”

“66,” Rosmerta replied. “Gave me a funny look when I handed him his key, like I chose the number on purpose or something.”

“Thank you,” Hermione replied, and headed away from dead Charles, back towards the inn.

 

* * *

 

The man who called himself Lukas Morrow paced in his room, a newly caged lion prowling around its artificial den. The precaution was necessary, lest suspicion be cast upon him for the murder. A dark corner of his mind had entertained the idea of joining his kinsman for breakfast, but for some reason the killer didn’t seem the type to share.

He would catch the rogue, of course. Bring him to justice in the diabolical sense. That was how Hell worked, how demonic law ruled. There was no way the humans were going to catch him first. Demons never get caught by human police.

Especially not when the King of Hell personally goes after a lawbreaker.

A sharp knock sounded on his door, bringing Lucifer Morningstar out of his thought cycle.

“Mr. Morrow?” a female voice called through the wood, unnecessarily loud to his ears. “Open up.”

It was the girl Lucifer had seen that morning. No doubt come to inform him about the murder. Putting a pleasant smile on his face, the Devil walked across the small room and unlocked the door. It swung inwards to reveal Hermione, showing more distress than she probably realized. “Yes?”

The explanation was brief and to the point, followed quickly by pointed questions, like had he really been in the inn the whole time and what was he doing in Hogsmeade.

“Please, Miss Hermione,” Lucifer said, holding up a hand. “Give me a minute to sit down.” He put a bit of theatrics into the act, collapsing into the nearest seat with a vague expression of shock.

“Sorry, I’m just…” Hermione stopped and folded her arms.

“I have indeed been here the whole time. I didn’t have much to unpack, so I thought I’d just rest for a time. My home country is a far distance away. I’m…taking a small holiday from work. Catching up on some personal matters.”

“Where are you from?”

_Heaven. But I changed my address a while back. Perhaps you’ve read about it_. “Italy,” Lucifer replied. “Venice, to be exact.”

A few questions later, Hermione turned to leave. Something seized ahold of him— _don’t just let her walk out that door_ —and Lucifer reached out to briefly tap her shoulder. “Miss Hermione? There’s something else.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve seen murders like this one before.”

That got her attention. “What?”

“I…might be able to help. At the very least, let me come up to the castle tomorrow morning and talk.”

Hermione nodded to the request, a bit uncertain. A hint of suspicion crept into her eyes, but she said nothing, merely continued on her way and closed the door behind her. Lucifer was left standing in the dim light of his room, wondering why he had said that. It would be a great vantage point from which to track his rogue demon, of course, but there was a much higher risk of someone finding out what he was. And _who_ he was.


	3. A Centaur's Warning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a while.

Hermione spent the remainder of the afternoon trying to help calm down the thestrals and hippogriffs. The paddocks where Hagrid kept them tethered were secluded, drawn back into the forest and well away from sight of the village in the distance. She wouldn't be surprised if the thestrals had sensed the death even from here. But the hippogriffs were a different story--unconnected to death omens, not exclusively carnivorous in the same manner as thestrals. Yet the two species were acting the same, dancing at the ends of their ropes and tugging frantically. Both fenced-in areas were a flurry of flapping wings, which made for an eerie sight with the black, muscular creatures Hermione had slowly come to entertain a peculiar fondness for.

"Dorian?" she said to her coworker. The man hopped over, fluffy black hair bouncing in time with his worried movements. "Did the centaurs say anything when you talked to them? Do you think they could tell what happened, like the thestrals?"

"They might have seemed on edge." Dorian tilted his head to the side. "I'm not sure, really, I was too much on edge _myself_ to notice."

Hermione nodded. "I'll go talk to them now. We can at least let them know what's going on--after all, whatever killed that man might not discriminate."

"Okay?" Dorian said, but shifted on his feet. "Do you want some help?"

"No, thank you. It's probably better if I go alone."

 

* * *

 

 

Hermione walked calmly into the deeper parts of the forest, sticking to the trail she had mapped out in preparation for the department's negotiations. It had been to develop an understanding of sorts, and discuss what to do with some of the older human dwellings which had been found on the edges of the herd's territory. Despite Hermione's personal distaste for Divination, the centaurs did have intricate knowledge of patterns and signs. It was possible that, although the circumstances were grim, the negotiations might end up taking place after all.

She didn't look around as she walked, but felt that at least some of the centaurs were watching her. Other creatures in the forest skittered up and down the trees. Was there worry in the tunes of the birds? These thoughts made her stop and listen. In the daylight, the forest was not nearly as harsh and forsaking. It looked normal--old, filled with groaning trees--but not the sinister, ashen woods filled with mist from the lake working its way through the trees.

A sudden clop of hooves broke the atmosphere, and a great black-coated centaur leaped onto the trail in front of her. "What are you doing here?" he said in a gruff voice.

"Bane," Hermione greeted him. He sounded almost worried. Or was she like Dorian, seeing her own fears reflected?

"You should leave."

"Then you know about what's happened in the village?"

"What?" Bane's tone was irritated. "So the humans are having their little troubles. There is something in this forest, _now_."

Hermione took a step back, feeling her wand shift in her cloak pocket. "What is it?"

"The heavens are shrouded."

Her eyes flicked upwards, at the completely clear sky. _At least that metaphor is easy enough to figure out. He doesn't know what's going on, either.  
_

"Is there anything else you know? Anything you've...seen?" Hermione hated asking about a flimsy future derived from the stars, but she had to admit that Bane was at least trustworthy in his skill.

The centaur trotted over to a tree and began inspecting its base. His brow became increasingly more furrowed, and he looked at the sky often, as if checking for words written on those invisible dark clouds. Eventually, he turned and matched Hermione's gaze with a glare. She got the message--humans weren't welcome right now; she should have left when he told her to. But still, if Bane had but one shred of a fortune to share--

"Get out of the forest while you still can."

Okay, point taken. Hermione turned.

"You came here for help and warning, yet you ignore the truth when I start to speak it?" Bane stamped a hoof. "I will never understand your kind."

"What? That...wasn't a threat?" Hopefully that wasn't the wrong response.

"Not from us, no." The centaur shot a glare at the tree he had looked at, as if it had personally offended him. "Pluto shines the brightest," he muttered. "And the roots are all of evil make."

Hermione thanked Bane and left.

 

* * *

 

 

The morning found her back in the library at Hogwarts, which was a comforting home and oasis to Hermione in the midst of the chaos outside. She combed through a Divination textbook for mentions of Pluto. And the significance of roots, but that part of the future didn't seem to be going anywhere yet.

She arrived at a side note saying that Pluto was a sign of a disruption in everyday life, and threw up her hands.

"I was told I would find you here. Is this a bad time?"

Hermione jumped. Lukas Morrow was leaning against a shelf as if he'd been there the whole time. "Ah, sorry. I was just reading some works on Divination. Nothing useful, of course." She shot an irritated look at the tan pages.

"Knowing the future is more trouble than it's worth anyway, as they say," Lukas said. "And didn't I tell you that I had seen this kind of destruction before?"

He had, but Hermione wasn't willing to trust the word of a random stranger without also hunting for supporting evidence. But as she had hit a wall in her search, it was time to hear out Mr. Morrow. Hermione folded her arms onto the table and looked up.

"The man who was killed--Charles?--had a bird feather in his hand. He was trying to convince everyone of its magical properties, although he couldn't quite decide on a suitable species." A small smirk appeared on Lukas' face. Hermione noted that the man didn't seem bothered in the slightest by the violent death. "I asked him if he'd considered angels, and got laughed at for my trouble."

She raised an eyebrow. "I'm not surprised. The magical community _does_ have a history of distrust of religion. I doubt many wizards share your faith."

"Oh, I don't have faith," Lukas snapped, then softened his expression back to a distanced, unreadable smooth slate. "But I do accept the existence of divine beings."

 _Bad experience with religion?_ Hermione blinked at the anger that rose out of nowhere. "Sorry. What do angels have to do with Charles' death? Surely you're not suggesting..."

That implication got a different reaction out of Mr. Morrow. A laugh. "No, an angel would never do that to a human. But, to create a hypothetical situation for you, _if_ angels exist, then so do their opposite."

Demons.

Neither of them said the word, but it rang through Hermione's mind anyway. The world already had one soul-devouring fiend. The existence of another, stronger one wasn't impossible, she decided. Hermione thought back to Bane's second warning: " _and the roots are all of evil make._ " He hadn't been trying to refer to the _root of all evil_ , had he? Just what she needed--honestly having to consider the Devil as a solid, single-person entity. Her parents were Muggles, but they had never been religious, a trait which Hermione was rather thankful for, all things considered. She wondered what it was like for Muggleborns who happened to be born into families of people who might have been witch-hunters in another time. No, she would stamp out these rumors and thoughts before they caused damage. No one from centuries before had ever stumbled upon a witch working with the Devil, and that nonsense wouldn't start now.

Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, Lukas was staring at her, the corner of his mouth twitching.

**Author's Note:**

> So, let me know what you thought! I can't make any promise on a definite updating schedule.


End file.
